Flames, Embers, and Ashes
by Ramzes
Summary: Whether Daenerys loved Daemon, as those who rose for the Black Dragon later claimed, who could say? WARNING: Spoilers for The World of Ice and Fire.
1. Flames

**Flames, Embers, and Ashes**

_Flames_

**Whether Daenerys loved Daemon, as those who rose for the Black Dragon later claimed, who could say? In the years afterward, Daenerys was never aught but a loyal wife to Prince Maron, and if she mourned Daemon Blackfyre, she left no record of it.**

In the fireplace, a huge log was still burning – a clear sign that the Queen was here. Daenerys looked around and saw her, with one of her favourite ladies-in-waiting, a woman of the Stormlands whom Daenerys' father had forced on his goodaughter, to keep an eye on her for him, most likely. The two women sat in the shadow cast by a curtain but they were in no way shadowed – they listened attentively to the two men's conversation, nodded, or shook their heads. Actually, the moment Daenerys was admitted, Lady Elanel was saying something and the King and his Hand listened intently.

Slightly awkward to intrude upon what was clearly a discussion of matters of state, the girl started to edge back but Daeron noticed her and smiled in welcome. "Come here, Daenerys," he said. "Take a seat."

She dropped a curtsy to him and the Queen and took the chair she had been offered. All of a sudden, her courage threatened to desert her, so she thrust her chin out before that could happen and said, "I was hoping I could have a word with you, Your Grace."

Her defiant expression made him raise an eyebrow but he looked at his companions and said, "Later, we'll take on from where we're leaving. Daenerys clearly has something urgent to discuss."

Ah, how she loved him, this brother who could be her father indeed! Daenerys had recently celebrated her fourteenth nameday and more than anything, she longed for others to treat her as the woman she felt she was, rather than the child they still thought her.

For a moment, she was afraid that the Queen might decide to stay. She could never speak candidly with Mariah of Dorne in attendance. Oh she had little doubt that Daeron would later tell her all about their conversation. But it wasn't the same thing.

To her relief, Mariah rose and left, trailed by Lady Elanel and one of those scents Daenerys always associated with her, heady and enticing.

"Well?" Daeron asked and poured her a goblet of wine. Pleased, Daenaerys noted that he didn't dilute it. Only children drank heavily diluted stuff. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"

She swallowed hard. "I know about your intentions to reconcile Dorne to your rule," she said and reached for the goblet to twirl it between her fingers.

Daeron didn't remind her that it would be hard for her not to know. He didn't keep his plans in secret and he had told her the details in person. He could see that she was distraught, so he let her approach the matter in any way that would soothe her.

"I don't want to wed him," she suddenly burst out.

Daeron didn't say a thing and to her surprise, it was worse than if he had told her that she was being a stupid, selfish child.

"I want to wed Daemon," she went on. "I love him," she added. "And he loves me."

Here. She had said it. She stared down at the goblet, feeling the heat from the fireplace turning into sweat on her back. She waited for Daeron to say that Daemon was already wed, that he had three children with Rohanne of Tyrosh already, that Daenerys was just a silly girl who didn't truly love Daemon and he didn't love her either, that he simply desired her like many other men did. She waited eagerly, so she could defend herself, be the brave champion of her love and make him change his mind. Daeron loved her, she knew that. Surely he would not deny her the happiness he had found with Mariah? He only needed to listen to her defense…

But he did not start the conversation.

"I mean, I know Daemon is wed and all," Daenerys finally spoke again. To her irritation, she felt a blush spreading all the way to the tip of her ears and even the back of her neck. "But the Targaryens had taken multiple wives in the past. She will be comfortably settled and she'll stay his wife in name alone, so she won't be his wife at all."

Her voice faded when she realized how unconvincing she sounded. Later, she would realize that it could not have gone in any other way – of course she could not convince him when she could not even convince herself fully. For now, she leapt to another line of defense.

"I know how important gaining Dorne to our peace is. But there must be another way, surely? You don't want me to be unhappy to the end of my life, do you? And that's what will happen if you force me into a marriage not of my choosing."

Daeron was still silent and in this silence, she could hear his answer. There hadn't been another road to peace but wedding Daeron to a Dornish princess that he had never seen and he had done his duty. For the first time, Daenerys wondered whether he and Mariah had been as terrified of the prospect of their marriage as she was now. She would find no mercy here. He expected of her the understanding of a woman and he would not indulge her arguments the way he would have done a child's. To him, duty trumped anything else and she was old enough to be mindful of hers.

"Did Daemon send you here?" Daeron finally asked. There was no anger in his voice. He might have been discussing the rusty poles of the bottom of the dry moat around the Red Keep. He had yet to drink from his goblet and now Daenerys realized that he hadn't drunk at all while he had been having the discussion that she had interrupted.

Fury grasped her. How dared he imply that Daemon had sent her here so she would take the heat? They had discussed the matter and she had offered to come here herself. Daemon was ready to fight for her. He was. He would fight the enemy who was sitting the Iron Throne, and wed her, and they would love each other till the end of their lives. And even if it cost the Iron Throne the chance to join Dorne to the other six kingdoms, she would _never_ feel guilty.

"Daeron who nobles and smallfolk alike glorify as the Good!" she mocked. "I'll never forget what you did to me. And I won't wed the Dornishman, mark my word!"

She turned and left in a blaze of rage, slamming the door so hard that she hears a candlestick toppling at the other side. The Kingsguard at the door didn't say a thing but the disappointment in his eyes pierced her heart like a Dornish arrow. She had known the man her entire life and she had never seen this expression addressed at her before.

No, she would not melt. She would not sacrifice her love for duty. They would have to drag her to the statues of the Father and Mother by force…

The thought that she still had this option soothed her in the long nights she spent awake, knowing that no matter what, she wouldn't go against Daeron's behest. Even if Maron Martell turned out to be the most hideous of men. Even if her heart would break one piece at a time every day. Because without Daemon, the famed sun of Dorne could bring no warmth to her.


	2. Embers

**Thank you, VVSINGIFTHECROSS, for reviewing.**

Flames, Embers, and Ashes

_Embers_

The bear stared at her through wide eyes, his muzzle opened in a savage roar, his hind legs supporting his reared weight as he made ready to attack.

Daenerys laughed and gave him a quick kiss right in the blue space between his eyes. He was dark-blue, all of him. He wasn't real. Just a toy. A companion from days long gone whom she had dug out of the closet to take with her in her new life. The wedding would take place in two days and they'd depart for Dorne less than a fortnight after.

"What's his name, Your Grace?" one of her new Dornish companions asked. "And why is he this colour?"

Daenerys smiled. "He's Ochie," she said. "Ochie the Oucher."

The woman just blinked, taken aback, but another Dornish lady, just a few years younger than Daenerys, nodded. "He was the one who ouched when you were hurt, is that right, my lady?"

Daenerys smiled and nodded. "He was my favourite," she said. "I must have had him from a very young age. I don't remember ever not having him."

"You were very young indeed," the Queen agreed, looking up from her needlework. "He was presented to you around the time Maekar was born," she went on. "Since everyone was interested in the babe, you announced that Ochie was your babe. At the time, he was twice as big as Maekar and we made a habit of measuring them against each other every week." For a moment, her face turned pensive. "Ah, what a welcome respite that was. I remember how horrible those days were, the King fighting Dorne and trying to get Daeron to repudiate me, and people whispering at King's Landing…"

"What?" Daenerys asked, her interest piqued now. "What were they whispering, Your Grace?"

"That my lying-in coinciding with the war was an omen. That my babe would be stillborn, to signify that living, lasting peace between the Iron Throne and Dorne would be impossible. That I'd die in the birthing bed because when my time came, there'd been only eleven months after Rhaegel's birth. Others claimed that I'd curse the Iron Throne with an olive Dornish child once again… And there were those who said that I'd give birth to a deformed monster." She smiled a little. "Ah they all had to eat their words when he arrived." Her smile grew. "You are so lucky, child."

To Daenerys' surprise, she found herself agreeing. The joy that had overtaken the Red Keep with the arrival of the Dornish party had rubbed on her as well. Hers would be a wedding taking place in an air of happiness and goodwill. She would never have to deal with what Mariah had had to endure. The days of warring were over… and it would be because of her. Well, not truly because of her but she would have played a part.

"I am," she confirmed. Since the moment she had first laid her eyes on her lord husband to be, she had felt her fears dissolving, going away with the wind. It was the unknown that had scared her most, letting her paint all sort of terrible pictures in her head. But Maron Martell was far from terrible and nothing like the infirm old man she had conjured in her mind. Tall and powerful, still in his twenties, the Dornish prince had this air of vitality about him that reminded her oddly of Baelor, the kind of energy that infected those around him. She did not love him, of course. Maybe she would one day but now, it was too soon. But she was incredibly relieved that their life together need not be an insufferable one. Now that she knew some of the people she would live with, that she could pin a face on the man she would wed, the visions of horse blood drinking savages who would not know what to do with a true lady would never come back.

"When is your last fitting?" the Queen asked.

"Tonight," the girl said. Her wedding gown was truly marvelous but she was not sure at all that she'd be able to walk in it – it was so heavily adorned with flounces and gems. If she found out that she could not bear the weight of it, the seamstresses would have to make further corrections.

"Are you going to wear it at the tourney, Your Grace?" one of the women asked.

"No," Daenerys said. She already had a full number of gowns for the event.

Soon, the conversation drifted to who would wear whose favour. The Princess noticed more than a few stares in her direction but paid them no mind. No matter what they might think, she had not given Daemon her favour… and she wouldn't give it even if he asked it of her. He had spent the last year or so in his estate with his wife – his heavy with child wife – and at his coming back a few weeks ago she had been shocked to find out that her heart no longer beat faster when he looked at her. His compliments left her indifferent. How was it possible? But it was the truth and she could not say it made her sad.

"Why, that's Ochie!"

Daenerys startled and realized that while she had been lost in her thoughts, Daeron and a few others had come. She blushed as she realized that she had not curtsied. She could only hope that it'd be taken as a dreaming of a new bride to be, instead of disrespect and bad manners. It was too late to remedy it now anyway.

She looked at Baelor who was grinning, staring at the blue bear. "I had all but forgotten about that friend of yours."

"Why is he blue?" Maekar asked.

She sighed. He _would_ ask the obvious question. He just would. Someone possessed of more tact would have figured that the story might be an embarrassing one since bears weren't supposed to be blue, even toy bears. But not he. Not Maekar Targaryen. People already spoke of his talents but one could never accuse him of being overly tactful.

She smiled and shook her head, indicating that she had forgotten. Unfortunately, Baelor had a great memory. "Because we painted him blue," he explained. "When you grew as big as him, we decided to paint you blue, both of you. You must have been two or three year old. We waited for both you and your nursemaid to go to sleep, we woke you up and took you out of the bedchamber and it was done in no time at all."

"Indeed?" Maekar seemed to find this amusing, at least until one of the Dornish girls said, "I am sure they could have been twins."

He glared at her but his mother's look warned him against retaliating. Dyanna Dayne smiled so sweetly that the mocking was evident. She seemed to be enjoying her advantage over him.

"What's going on?" Daenerys whispered to Baelor. "They look as if they want to lunge at each other's throats."

"I have no idea," he whispered back. "Two days ago, he was furious because of a mad girl who angered him to no end but I don't know what she did…"

"And she was complaining of a brute with no manners at all," she finished. "Well, they are both thirteen. In fact, I don't know if she's even this. Who knows what they think?"

She spoke with the easy condescension of a much older woman. Baelor looked aside to hide his smile. He certainly wasn't going to remind her what she had been like two years ago, fancying herself in love with Daemon.

"Care to tell me where to find five hundred dragons?" he turned to Maekar instead, curious as to his brother's newfound wealth.

The boy blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Five hundred dragons," Baelor explained. "I heard you had them."

Maekar slowly shook his head, his bewilderment evident. "When did it occur to you that I have _five hundred dragons_?"

This dialogue was becoming more and more bizarre. Baelor looked around to make sure that no one was listening to them. Daenerys could overhear something but she had drifted off again, so he felt free to lean close and hiss, "I heard you placed a bet that I'd defeat Daemon in the last tilt."

Finally, there was some understanding in Maekar's eyes. Still, the boy shook his head. "I did place the bet. But did you truly believe that I have five hundred dragons? Maybe one day if I make king," he jested. "No, you just have to win, do you hear me? I placed a bet of five hundred dragons and I don't have them. So you have to win," he finished as if his reasoning was a perfect one. "And wipe this arrogant smile off his face," he added.

Baelor very much wanted to snap at him that once he grew up, he could take part in all tourneys he wanted to, so he'd better not burden Baelor with his expectations and his nonexisting dragons. But he didn't. In fact, it felt nice that Maekar believed in his victory so much. And Daemon had been insufferable lately, it was not only Maekar's imagination and dislike of him. Had he ever really believed that he'd be allowed two wives? Did he consider himself wronged, thinking that he was _entitled_ to Daenerys? Daenerys who seemed to have lost any interest in him, blessed be the gods. Baelor's childhood friend was disappearing quickly, making room for someone Baelor did not know and did not particularly like.

"Very well," he said. "When you issue an order, I cannot disobey. I'll defeat Daemon in the last tilt and your honour will be saved."

"And his cockiness gone," Maekar insisted.

Baelor sighed. There was no grey with this boy. Somehow, he wondered whether Maekar could see any other colour but black and white, in anything. But this time, he was right. Daemon needed to be taught a lesson and Baelor hoped he'd be able to give him one.

"Fine!"

He turned back to Daenerys, taking her out of her pensive silence. "Daenerys? My lady?"

She startled and gave him an embarrassed smile. "Yes?"

"Would you give me your favour to bring me luck in the tilts?"

He waited, holding his breath. If she refused, if she gave her favour to Daemon instead, it could still lead to tension and problems. If the Dornish party got wind of this…

She paused, her lips pressed together. But then, she reached for the blue ribbon in her hair. "I hope it brings you good luck," she said. "Wear it for me."

He bowed his head. She extended the gift to him and just when he was taking it, he heard her murmur, "And for Ochie."


	3. Ashes

**As always, thank you, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, for being such a constant reviewer.**

Flames, Embers, and Ashes

_Ashes_

The little girl threw herself into her father's arms the moment he entered the door, all red face and anguished squeals, and back that she turned determinedly to her mother.

He obligingly took her in his arms, turned her head down and started waving her around as she screamed with joy. She wanted more and more – to show him her new treasure, a white seashell, to have him throw her high up the air and he did all she wanted but absent-mindedly. Despite smiling, his expression stayed grave.

Finally, Daenerys intervened. "It's time Meria goes to bed," she said.

"That's right," Maron agreed readily by which Daenerys saw that something was indeed troubling him. "Where are Mors and Aliandre?"

She shrugged. "They came to bid me goodnight. No doubt they _aren't_ sleeping. I'd say they are hiding between the blood orange trees with the other children, exploring the night and feeling brave."

Maron chuckled. His memories of the time he was a child pointed at her being right. "Come on," he told their youngest. "You're going to bed."

The nursemaid came to take her over and Meria planted an open-mouthed kiss on her father's cheek, once again ignoring her mother.

"What's wrong with her?" Maron wondered once they were alone.

"Nothing," Daenerys said sharply. "She's angry because today, I told her I had no more milk. I can't take it anymore, Maron! As soon as she sees me, she throws herself at me and starts taking my bodice off… and she doesn't care whether there are people present. She screams, "Milk!" so loudly that the old deaf Lorant can hear her from the bottom of the garden. And she's biting me with whatever teeth she has! I am _done_."

It was clear that at the moment, she was feeling aggravated and guilty in equal parts. But he was ill prepared to soothe her anxiety. And he expected that when she heard the last bit of news, the troubles the children were giving her would turn into nice breeze.

"I have something to tell you," he started.

She turned her head to look at him. "What? Don't tell me that Daemon Blackfyre has regained his senses and put an end to his ridiculous rebellion?"

She always called him that: Daemon Blackfyre. Especially with Maron present. She couldn't exactly say why. It felt like she was trying to put as much distance between herself and her one-time infatuation as possible, in the beginning, at least. And then, it had just become a habit.\

Maron sighed. "I wish it was so! But no." He paused. "On the contrary. His supporters have started spreading the rumour that he's fighting because the King destroyed both of your lives by giving you to me. That you once promised to wed him and Daeron was as cruel to you as he was to him by denying both of you your hearts' wishes. That he had been wronged by denying you when you wanted him as well."

The words fell over Daenerys, destroying the last vestiges of nostalgia and affection for the boy she had once known, the vestiges that had been buried so deep that she hadn't even known they still existed. She had been too wrapped in her new life, her family, her charities, the love that had blossomed all of a sudden to dig this deep but the pain that now grasped her showed her that she hadn't forgotten Daemon as thoroughly as she thought she had. But it was not love that emerged. It was anger, bitterness, betrayal, fury with herself for having been so wrong. Everything that Maron was relaying to her had been true – a long time ago. By the time of her wedding, it had not been so. It wasn't now – and Daemon knew it. She had chosen to obey Daeron on her own free will. She had forsaken Daemon. If someone had spurned him, it was her, not Daeron. Or maybe he had been the one who spurned her by marrying Rohanne? She was so furious that she said so to Maron who smiled sardonically. "Oh, there's an explanation on the ready for that as well," he informed her. "They claim that your late father agreed to let him have you as his second wife… and you agreed, as well."

That was too much! Daenerys jumped to her feet, kicked the pillow she had been sitting on and when this didn't bring her proper satisfaction, collected it and threw it in the farthest corner. "He's going too far!" she exploded. "Who does he think he is? Wasn't the vileness he heaped upon my lady mother and Daeron enough? Does he truly need to degrade me as well? What's next, claiming that he took my maidenhead in the throne room, with the dragon skulls watching? What's next?!"

A few years ago, she would have never been this vulgar but eight years in her new home had gotten her used to Dornish way of speaking, not only Dornish spicy food. "Just because his mother was a whore," she went on, pacing the spacious solar, "it doesn't mean that mine was, as well… or that he might claim me as one, waiting on his pleasure!"

The thought of just how close she had been to that position made her sick. Fool, fool, fool thrice over! She had actually gone to Daeron trying to convince him to give her to Daemon because she would be his cherished wife, his only wife, in fact… How had he managed not to laugh at her naiveté? If a younger Daenaerys tried to persuade _her_ in such a ridiculous notion, she would probably take some of Aliandra's toys and offer them to her to show what a silly child she was being!

On and on she went, raging and pacing, and then suddenly she stopped and gave him a look of fear. He smiled a little. After eight years of marriage, he could read her like an open book. She was now scared that he'd think that there was some truth to these rumours and she was confirming it by her ire. A man her age might have thought so. But he had been gaining experience with women while she had been still playing with that blue bear of hers. A youthful infatuation could pose no threat to him. One who had set himself to the task to besmirch her mother's reputation, Daeron's reputation, and her own family life posed even less of a threat. He had no doubt that there had been no one else in Daenerys' life since the day they had wed. That there had been a Daemon in her heart didn't bother him. After all, she never asked him about the woman he had sent away for her after living with her for many years, despite everyone knowing that he had loved his paramour. It was only just.

"Come here," he said, patting the settee next to him. Relieved, she came and snuggled close. He stroked her shoulder and back. "You can't behave like this, Daenerys. You'd only fuel the rumours."

"The lies!" she interrupted him, her eyes blazing.

"The lies," he conceded. "Anyway, you know how those things work."

"I know," she agreed. "And I won't behave like this in front of people. It'll be like this…"

She drew back and schooled her face in expression of regal confusion. "Daemon Blackfyre?" she asked aloud. "Who was he?"

He laughed, delighted. "Now, that's better!"

She smiled innocently. "I thought you might approve, my lord husband. I thought you might."

They spoke for a while and then, just when they were going to retire, the castellan asked to be received.

"I am sorry for the late hour, my Prince," he apologized. "But Lord Dayne is here, and Lady Dyanna Dayne… I mean, Princess Dyanna… and her son… they arrived with the tide… and I thought you might like to receive them as I have their rooms ready for them."

Maron and Daenerys traded a look. "I had no idea she was in Dorne," she said. "Did you?"

He shook his head. "No. But I doubt she came to see us. I think she was at Starfall. And with those damned Yronwoods declaring for Daemon Blackfyre, they could hardly go back by land and right now, going by sea probably wasn't such a good idea either."

Daenerys understood. "But neither could she stay in Starfall," she said. "Not with the war on her heels. And with the relationship between Daemon Blackfyre and Maekar being as it is, she decided to take the risk to travel, instead of relying on his chivalry."

It was certainly not good of her to smile at the thought of the lovely white castle under a siege but she could not help but find no small measure of satisfaction in the idea of Daemon's men exhausting time and resources only to be told, at the end, that Dyanna and Daeron's grandson weren't home.

**The End**


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